Midnight Musings
by Trubie74
Summary: Part 1 of the Twisted Tales Series: The nightly musings of poor Greta and her "ghostly little boy". These ficlets are not in any particular order and can be placed generally throughout the film.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Boy (2016) or any of it's characters.

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 **Midnight Musings**

 _It Crept Through the Halls_

It was that damn giggling again.

Greta squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the pillow against her head in a desperate attempt to shut out the hair-raising sound. This was the tenth night in a row the noises had kept her up. Each time, she swore up and down that she could hear a child running about the house. She could feel the vibrations from his feet in the floor boards. But every time she went to investigate… nothing. The second she stepped foot out her door the house would grow instantly still. Would grow quiet. Too quiet.

"Brahms" was always exactly where she'd left him, lying in his room. His porcelain eyes would stare vacantly toward the far wall, never changing, always watching. His stillness was starting to unnerve her. She kept finding herself almost hoping to catch him in the act. To see him move. It was a daunting thought, but surely it'd be better than all this uncertainty she was feeling. If it wasn't Brahms…

There were no children running through the house. She'd checked, several times.

Greta wasn't sure she could handle much more of this. This constant feeling of being watched, of being laughed at when there was no one there to laugh in the first place. She was going to lose her mind. Unless… maybe that's what this was. Perhaps… she'd already lost it. Even if that was the case, it wasn't like she was really missing much in the sleep department. The nightmares plaguing her lately had proven that they could be much, much worse. A loud bang rang out, just beyond her bedroom door and Greta flinched bodily at the sound. The myriad of snickering that followed was straight from hell. "Just a few more hours… Just a few more…" she murmured to herself and tried to settle in.

It looked like it was going to be another long night.

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 **Please Review! Questions, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Midnight Musings**

 _While You Were Sleeping_

A shudder of pleasure rippled through him as he carded his fingers through her hair. Infinitely soft, the strands slipped effortlessly through his fingers. She was sleeping again, eyes flickering wildly behind her eyelids, yet she didn't stir.. Nor would she, not right away anyway.

She was a deep sleeper, his Greta.

Always caught up in her dreams.

Humming with a twisted satisfaction, he peered down at her in the faint light, taking in the delicious visage she unknowingly presented to him.

She was lovely, his Greta.

All delicate features and smooth creamy skin. He'd made a good choice with this one. Thinking back to the others as he looked at her now, they had all so clearly paled in comparison. They'd been boring. He'd been right to dispatch them. But not her.

She was fun, his Greta.

She liked to play along.

Sure she'd been a little frightened at first, but after she ate the sandwich he'd carefully prepared for her, she'd warmed right up. Carrying him around, talking to him, playing his special music and reading him stories. She was perfect.

Reaching down, he began to palm himself through his trousers. A burning hunger was stirring within him and he was growing tired of waiting. His other hand began to dance lightly over her skin as it slid down her scalp to gently grip her throat.

Brow furrowing, her lips twitched… and she slept on.

She was so unaware, his Greta.

So very… vulnerable.

It wouldn't be much longer now. She was almost completely taken with him. Defending him to Malcolm, genuinely enjoying his presence, trying to get him to move out in the open for her. She wanted to be closer to him, he could see it. If only she knew how close to her he truly was...

Malcolm was going to have to go.

It was a pity really.

Not that he was particularly fond of Malcolm, but having to break in another errand boy would be tedious and could prove... tempting for his Greta. Lest one of those gits from town give her ideas… But Malcolm had already done that.

She liked Malcolm, his Greta.

So Malcolm was definitely going to have to go.

Leaning down, he was careful not to disturb her. Tucking his nose against her collarbone, he inhaled. She smelled like the shampoo he'd selected for her. A sort of floral scent, like lilacs... but better. It had been easy enough to switch out the names of the soaps on Malcolm's list. And when they'd arrived she hadn't even seemed to notice, using them without complaint.

She was so easily swayed, his Greta.

It was a struggle not to have her then and there.

Soon.

He was curious to see how she'd react to his true form. Her conviction that he was some ghostly little boy in need of tender care amused him to no end. She was in for a bit of a shock, his Greta.

Keeping his voice like that of a child would ease the way for her but his stature could be a problem. He knew he was intimidating. He'd seen the fear in his parents eyes often enough.

But they had been lowly, his parents.

His Greta was different.

Not that her response truly mattered in the long run. She would come around. He would make sure of that.

The letter said so, after all.

Greta was his.

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 **Please Review! Questions, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks for reading!**

 **AN:** Disturbingly enough, I found Brahms to be really fun to write. Lord knows what that says about me. Ah well, who cares.


	3. Chapter 3

**Midnight Musings**

 _Not Alone_

Greta slipped out of bed and padded quietly out into the hall. It was one in the morning and her throat was drier than the Sahara. Making her way down the dimly lit hall, thanking her lucky stars that she'd remembered to leave a lamp on, she paused a couple feet passed Brahms door.

There had been someone standing in Brahms' room.

Backtracking swiftly she stopped just shy of the doorframe. She could hear whoever it was moving about, the hiss of what sounded like some sort of cabinet opening and closing… than silence. Mustering courage she most certainly wasn't feeling, she swung around and into the room, arms up and fists at the ready. Like hell was an intruder going to get the drop on her. She may not look like much but she sure as hell knew how to throw a punch.

There was no one there.

Blinking in confusion, she nervously whirled around, taking in the rest of the room.

Empty.

Damn, she must be more tired than she'd originally thought.

Frustrated at herself and the stupid old house for playing tricks on her, Greta turned and stalked off back down the hall without a backward glance. She was just so sick of being tired all the time. But between the weird noises and all the nightmares, she really didn't have much choice.

Descending the stairs in a huff she moved into the kitchen.

Containers of leftovers from last nights' dinner were sitting in a neat pile on the island countertop. Swaying slightly, she stood there and stared. She could have sworn she'd put those away just before taking Brahms into the parlor for music time. She distinctly remembered placing the steak slices in the back of the freezer where it was coldest so it would keep longer.

Yet here they were. Out on the counter.

As she looked more closely, it became obvious that the containers weren't the only thing out of place. It appeared as if someone had been in the midst of making something and had left suddenly. There was a cup next to the microwave, filled with her favorite juice mix. Next to it, a plate and silverware were out and ready to go. Greta closed her eyes and pinched her nose, trying to take deep breathes as she counted down from ten.

This was getting ridiculous.

She must be sleepwalking. Yes, that was it. Sleepwalking down to the kitchen and making herself a midnight snack. There was no other explanation.

Resigned and desperate to get back to bed, she moved to put everything away again… and stepped on something hard.

There, lying on the floor at her feet, was her cell phone. The very cell phone she had tossed into her dresser a few days prior and hadn't touched since. As she bent down to pick it up, a floorboard creaked ominously behind her. Jumping and whipping around, her heart was just about in her throat.

There was no one there.

Again.

Fuck this, she thought and quickly made her way back up the stairs. She could clean everything up in the morning, she was too frazzled to deal with this… whatever this was. Another strange noise from downstairs put some spring in her step and soon she was back in her room with the door locked, safely under her covers. Thirst long forgotten, she snuggled in and tried to go back to sleep.

Greta spent the rest of the night trapped in nightmares.

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 **Please Review! Questions, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Midnight Musings**

 _Watching Over You_

He felt a sick sense of satisfaction deep in his core as she screamed and slammed her staff against the shutters again and again. Peering at her through a small hole in the wall, he watched as a nervous sweat broke out across her face.

She was starting to panic.

Good.

It'll be better if she learns now that what she has with Malcolm won't be tolerated. She was his and she needed to understand that. To accept it.

He could hear Malcolm ringing the doorbell down below, the pauses between each chime lengthening with time. When the bell finally stopped ringing all together ,Malcolm turning to leave, Greta went into a near fit of hysterics. She didn't calm down until the sound of tires was well up the drive and out of reach.

Breathing hard, his lovely Greta turned to survey the rest of the attic, eyes frantic.

She was looking for him.

Brahms smiled to himself and turned, slipping silently along the hidden passage, around the edge of the room and coming to a stop to her left. His brow furrowed as he took in her face. She was staring at something with a look akin to horror. Glancing to the side he almost laughed out loud. There was a coat and hat propped up across the room, and in the dim lighting of the attic, it looked like someone was looming just out of view.

Gasping in fear, she reared back, only to trip and crack her head as she fell.

She didn't get back up.

He waited a few minutes, just to be sure, before moving over to the hatch he'd made long ago. Emerging out into the gloom of the attic, he came to stand over her.

And then he just stood there, watching her.

He stood there for quite some time, long through the night and into the faint light of the morning.

Watching.

The sound of birds seemed to break his silent vigil.

Crouching down he reached out, fiddling with her necklace for a moment.

It was very pretty.

Almost as pretty as she was.

She wore it so much that it had become a part of her. It represented her… and so he craved it.

Clenching the little jewel in his fist he contemplated ripping it from her neck to take with him. The necklace would make his doll all the more real until it was time to take his true Greta… But no.

She loved this necklace, and he doubted she'd view his theft as amusingly as she had her shoes. Releasing the gold chain, he slowly moved his hand down over her torso, relishing in the trail his fingers left behind.

She was naked under that towel.

As his hand came back up to rest over her chest, completing its circuit, he dipped his finger down to skim over the top of her breasts. Satisfied with what he found there, he stood up and made his way back over to the wall.

Not a minute after he disappeared from view…

Greta woke up.

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 **Please Review! Questions, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Midnight Musings**

 _Knock Knock (Pt. I)_

Greta stood in the dim light of her room, right ear pressed to the wall listening intently.

Something in the wall had been moving.

She'd thought she'd imagined it at first, but as the night had progressed, she had become convinced that there was something more to it. Greta had tracked the sound around her room, tip-toeing along and coming to a stop beside her dresser. The sound was faint, she wouldn't have heard it at all if she'd been making any sort of sound. It was a tight, creaking noise. Like the sound a floorboard makes when someone who knows it's going to squeak steps on it carefully in a vain attempt to avoid the squeaking.

Now as she stood in her nightie, straining her ears for the slightest sound, the wall had gone predictably silent.

Greta waited.

She waited... and she waited… and she waited some more.

Not a peep.

Sighing in frustration, Greta smacked her hand against the wall and turned to go back to bed. It had been nothing, probably just a rat. She'd have to set out more traps tomorrow, maybe bait it with a different kind of cheese… Greta had made it four tired steps when she heard it loud and clear as day.

Something had knocked on the wall.

Turning around slowly, Greta made her way over.

Raising her hand, she hesitated.

This was stupid, she knew. Just her mind playing tricks on her.

Rats don't knock back, she told herself.

Despite knowing this, Greta was curious. She wanted to be sure. Taking a deep breath she knocked once, sharply on the wall. Than she waited.

A full minute went by and nothing.

Greta was just starting to consider the fact that she might need to get her ears checked when a hard knock directly in front of her jarred her from her thoughts. Growing excited, Greta tapped her fist against the wall four times in a quick beat. Than she stood there, hands clenched together as she stared in anticipation.

Another minute went by.

" _Thump - thump thump - thump_ ", suddenly played animatedly back to her.

Greta wasn't entirely sure what was going on but she was definitely excited now. Maybe it was Brahms? She was still in shock over the unbelievable discovery she'd made the day before. The doll, _BRAHMS_ , was alive. Trapped inside that porcelain toy was a little boy who wanted nothing more than for her to play with him. He'd even made her a sandwich.

Smiling and leaning in, Greta tapped out another beat and waited. Could Brahms' ghost leave the doll? She'd assumed he and the figure were attached but maybe that wasn't the case. Maybe it was _the house_ Brahms was really haunting, and the doll was just a medium he was using to communicate! It made sense when she really thought about it.

After a full two minutes of waiting the wall remained silent.

Greta frowned to herself and knocked again. Mrs. Heelshire had said that he could be shy…

Still nothing.

Swallowing her disappointment at the lack of response, Greta leaned all the way forward until her body was practically plastered to the wall.

Raising her hand for one last try, she knocked gently and called out "Brahms?"

The response was immediate.

The wall echoed with a resounding THWACK as something very large slammed into the wall from just on the other side.

Greta lept back with a shriek of surprise, tripping over her own two feet and landing on her butt. She scooted hurriedly backwards until she connected with the side of the bed where she sat huddled. From inside the wall came a sudden giggle followed by silence.

The room was now so quiet Greta swore she could hear her own heart beating. 'He's just a kid' she told herself, 'It was just a harmless prank'. Knowing this didn't seem to quell the extremely unnerved feeling taking hold of her. The entire situation felt wrong in a way she hadn't experienced since she'd first come to the Heelshire household. Writing it off as the heebie-jeebies, she pushed herself shakily to her feet.

"Good one Brahms," she laughed haltingly, "you really got me there."

Silence continued to reign.

That wrong feeling still firmly lodged in her chest, Greta called out a quick good night and switched off the light. Settling into bed, she was surprised to find quiet tears trailing down her cheeks. Greta couldn't quite shake the feeling that something horrible was about to happen. She just wasn't sure what.

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 **Please Review! Questions, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Hello everyone! So um, sorry for not updating? My attention's been kind of spread out through other fandoms. Blame Doctor Who. I'll try to update Hell Bound in the next month or two.  
Excuses aside, consider this a sister chapter to the previous one, Knock Knock. Enjoy!

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 **Midnight Musings**

 _Who's There? (Pt. II)_

Brahms stood with his back lightly pressed to wooden boards, eyes fixed steadily ahead.

She was right there, less than a foot away.

Reaching a hand out, he pressed it flat against the inside of the wall. If he focused, he could almost feel her body heat. Maddeningly warm and _so very close..._

Too close. She hadn't been meant to hear him. He should have known better.

He _did_ know better.

The woodwork on this end of the house predated the rest, of course it would squeak.

He should never have come down here while she was still awake, not when she was still keyed up from their first real encounter the day before. She was vigilant now, expecting him. He'd have to be more careful in the future.

A light smacking sound made Brahms blink, drawing him from his thoughts.

She was leaving. He could hear her socked feet as they shuffled across the bare floor, leaving him. Brahms hesitated...

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. But he was growing cold.

 _"thump"_

Brahms smiled to himself as the shuffling began to move back toward him. _"knock"_ And there she was.

Raising his hand again, he waited, letting the moment stretch...

 _"thump"_

He didn't need to see to know she'd jumped, silly girl.

Turning to leave, he had other things to attend to, Brahms stilled when a series of very pointed knocks rang out beside him.

Surprised but pleased, he turned back, predatory smile growing larger by the minute. Silly, _brave_ girl. So she wanted to play a game? Brahms loved games.

" _Thump - thump thump - thump_ "

Pressing himself forward, he really believed he could feel the heat of her as she leaned in, listening. She knocked. He didn't respond, instead basking in her attentions. She was waiting _for him._ Her entire being, in that moment, was focused _on_ _him._ Brahms relished the feeling. She knocked again.

And again.

She'd become bold.

Now that just wouldn't do. He couldn't have her feeling too comfortable with him, not yet. She needed to learn her place first. She needed to _accept him._

Brahms waited patiently for the final knock. He knew it was coming.

Ever so delicate, hesitantly, she knocked. Then softly, "Brahms?"

His Greta was calling for him.

He responded immediately.

Her shriek of surprise rang out against the force of his blow, and he pressed his hands flat to the wall, feeling the vibrations throughout. A sharp giggle broke through his lips as he listened to the sound of her retreat.

"Good one Brahms," she laughed haltingly after a moment, "you really got me there."

Got her? He shook his head, mask shifting lightly with the movement.

Oh, if only she knew how much that were true.

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 **Please Review! Questions, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks for reading!**


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